


Slice of Life

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Boys and Their Toys [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Danger Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Knifeplay, M/M, Objectification, Orgasm Denial, Safewords, Sort of? - Freeform, Topping from the Bottom, Weapons Kink, but no actual cutting, like seriously theres exactly one drop of blood, merlin working out, these boys are so damn domestic even when theyre being kinky, which is like its own kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: “I think I’d like it if you used a knife on me. In bed.”Harry stares at Merlin, who blinks back calmly. “You what me to do what?” he asks, sure he misheard, because there is no way that Merlin just, completely out of the blue, told Harry he wants to be stabbed during sex.





	Slice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Well, apparently I have a weapons kink, so now it's going to be a series. This is all Pemberly-Press [and this damn gif's](https://pemberley-press.tumblr.com/post/169561698100/seems-like-everyone-has-a-new-favorite) fault.
> 
> And I will not apologize for the title. I'm hilarious.

“I think I’d like it if you used a knife on me. In bed.”

Harry stares at Merlin, who blinks back calmly. “You what me to do what?” he asks, sure he misheard, because there is no way that Merlin just, completely out of the blue, told Harry he wants to be stabbed during sex.

“We don’t have to do it,” Merlin says in response to his tone. “It was just a suggestion.” And he goes back to his tablet, like he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on Harry.

Harry reaches over physically removes the tablet from his partner’s hands, setting it on the nightstand along with the book he’d been reading up until Merlin spoke. Carefully, he asks, “Darling, are you alright?”

Merlin frowns in confusion, his eyes darting over to his tablet, still holding his hands like it hasn’t quite registered with his brain yet that Harry’s taken it away. “I’m fine,” he says slowly, folding them down into his lap. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“So you haven’t been thinking of hurting yourself, or…” Harry doesn’t know how to respond to something this. Merlin’s a workaholic, yes, but he’s never given any indication that he was depressed. Harry’s never met anyone who dealt with his emotions so neatly and matter-of-factly as Merlin. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t express them; at work he’s professional, but Merlin cries when he’s sad and laughs when he’s happy and goes to Kingsman’s therapy department on a regular basis to deal with the horrors they experience on a day to day basis in this line of work. On the whole, he’s better adjusted than most people, and he seems fine, although Harry knows that seeming fine isn’t always the same thing as actually being fine, and he’s starting to panic a bit, wondering how he could have missed something like this.

Merlin’s frown deepens and then smooths out as understanding dawns on his face. He shakes his head, “That’s not what this is about, Harry. I don’t actually want you to cut me. And even if I did, there are perfectly healthy ways and reasons to do it. It’s not like you actually want me to shoot you when we bring a gun into the bedroom.”

Harry flushes and squirms, and Merlin smirks, “Alright, that’s a grey area, I’ll give you that. But the point isn’t that I hurt you. It’s that I could hurt you, and I don’t.”

“Is that what this is about?” Harry asks tentatively. “You want to bring knives into the bedroom because you want me to…what, pretend I’m going to hurt you?”

Merlin shrugs, “I watch you work. Hell, I’ve sparred with you. I know you can pull your punches, so to speak. It’s exciting and dangerous and-“

“God knows we both get off on danger,” Harry mumbles. Merlin laughs and nudges him with his shoulder.

“We don’t have to do it,” he says softly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to try it.”

“What exactly do you want to try?” Harry asks.

Merlin tips his head back against the headboard, thinking. “I’d like the be pinned down,” he says. “And I’d like you to use the knife to keep me there. Not threatening or role-playing or anything, just keeping it close so I can’t move too far if I don’t want to get cut. Using it like you would in an interrogation, only sexier,” Merlin grins at him at the last bit.

“But not roleplay,” Harry clarifies again. “Not actually pretending to interrogate you. Just the technique. Only…sexier.” He’s not entirely sure what Merlin means by that, but given some of the more inventive things Merlin has done to him with a gun, he’s sure he can figure something out.

Merlin nods. “Do you think you could do that?”

Harry purses his lips and considers it. “Can I have some time to think about it?” he asks.

“Of course,” Merlin says, and holds his hand out. Harry gives him back his tablet and Merlin goes back to tapping away at it. But instead of reaching for his book again, Harry slides down in bed and turns away from his partner. Merlin dims the lights without being asked, and Harry closes his eyes. He’s not entirely averse to what Merlin’s asking him for, but it’s something that he’ll definitely need to turn over in his mind a bit before he can come to terms with actually doing it.

They don’t talk about it again, so by the time Harry comes home from his mission a month later, he’s more or less forgotten about it.

He finds Merlin in one of the fitness rooms off the main gym, and he takes a moment, standing in the doorway, to admire his partner, bare-chested and in tracksuit bottoms that sit low on his hips, already halfway through his workout if the sweat glistening on his skin, making the Celtic knotwork tattooed across his chest and shoulders shine, is any indication. Harry has a ludicrous fantasy sometimes, watching Merlin like this, of sitting on his partner’s back while he does push-ups; ludicrous in the sense that Harry would probably need to be a foot or more shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter for it to be plausible. Merlin may be strong, but he’s not strong enough to support the size and weight of a full grown - possibly overgrown, depending on who you asked – man using just his shoulder and arm muscles.

Harry clears his throat, and Merlin looks up, a smile replacing the intense look of concentration on his face as he pushes himself into a sitting position, stretching one long leg out in front of him and resting his elbow on the other knee. “I didn’t know you’d be back just yet,” Merlin says. “Welcome home.”

Harry toes out of his shoes and steps onto the mat, bending low so he can give Merlin a kiss. “Plane ride took a little less time than expected,” he explains. He sits down next to his partner and peels off his socks, tossing them in the direction of his shoes, and Merlin arches an eyebrow at the carelessness of the gesture. Harry ignore it and drums his fingers restlessly on the mat. The mission had involved a lot of running on the tail end, and the flight back home hadn’t done a thing to calm the itching of adrenaline under his skin.

They’ve known each other long enough that Merlin picks up on the tension without Harry having to say a word about it. Idly, he says, “We could spar, if you like.”

“God yes.” Harry all but leaps to his feet, heading for Merlin’s workout bag where it sits on the side-lines. He bends over and riffles through it, looking for the spare set of workout clothes his partner keeps there.

A sharp slap across his arse nearly snaps his spine as he jerks upright, and he looks over his shoulder as Merlin, his face a mask of faux-innocent neutrality, heads past him to lock the door. Harry does not question it. There’s more than one way to work off adrenaline, and they’ve been caught in compromising positions enough times, both here and in other rooms in the complex (thank god the gossip never seems to reach Chester), that it’s better safe than sorry.

Harry strips out of his suit and tugs the t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms on, knotting them tightly around his waist. He’s almost disappointed that Merlin doesn’t watch him changing, his partner instead taking the long way around the room and pausing in front of a control panel, keying in the code so that the wall slides open to reveal sparring equipment of a variety of types and levels, from basic wooden batons and katanas to actual knives and throwing stars with edges sharp enough to slice through bone.

Merlin examines the options, then plucks a pair of knives from the wall. He makes eye contact with Harry to make sure he’s paying attention before tossing one over, and Harry catches it neatly by the handle. Merlin hefts his own blade, getting a feel for it, and abruptly The Conversation springs back into Harry’s mind.

He pushes the thought away again and steps onto the mat. Merlin joins him, stopping a meter away and tilting his head slightly. He rolls his shoulders back and drops into a loose crouch, hands up, watching and waiting for Harry to make the first move.

Harry does, stepping into Merlin’s space and throwing a testing blow with his left hand at Merlin’s head, which Merlin ducks neatly and returns with a sharp jab to his nose. Harry pulls back, and then the fight actually begins.

At first, it’s just basic physical attacks; punches and kicks that are blocked and avoided and returned just as fiercely, only to be blocked again. They both know exactly how much the other can take, just how hard to hit so that there might be faint bruising, but no one will actually get hurt. Harry’s ears are roaring, blood screaming through his head as he loses himself in the familiar rush of battle, so when Merlin throws the first blow with his right hand, the knife glinting as it slashes down, Harry reacts instinctively, blocking Merlin with his forearm and slipping behind him.

He doesn’t get a chance to attempt to disarm him, Merlin twisting in his grip and coming at him with the knife again, and Harry dodges the overhand strike and returns with an underhand one, Merlin stepping back just in time to avoid a nasty gash across his ribs, then darting back in before Harry has a moment to reground, using his long legs to his advantage by hooking Harry’s knee and sweeping his legs out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

Harry goes to get up, but Merlin throws his weight down on top of Harry, bracketing Harry’s hips with his knees, and Harry has to reach up with both arms to shield his face as another strike comes down, catching Merlin’s wrist and twisting viciously. Merlin makes a soft sound of surprise, his knife falling to the mat with a thud, and Harry takes the opportunity to flip them over – moving intentionally away from the dropped weapon - and reverse the position so he’s no longer trapped by Merlin’s legs. He slices down with the knife, one of Merlin’s arms coming up in a weak attempt to block him or push him away.

Harry stops himself just as the tip of the knife grazes against Merlin’s throat. Harry’s pulse is thundering, both their chests heaving with the exertion, and Merlin’s eyes are wide, only the tiniest sliver of blue-grey iris still visible, swallowed by the black of his pupils at they stare at each other. Deliberately, Harry shifts back just a tiny bit and rolls his hips down experimentally.

Merlin’s eyes slam shut and he arches up slightly, letting out a soft gasp of pleasure at the friction against his cock, already half-hard and swelling rapidly as Harry ruts down against him. Merlin’s fingers curl more deliberately around his shoulder, and Harry stops.

Merlin lets out a sound of protest and opens his eyes, but Harry levels the blade, pressing it sideways against Merlin’s neck carefully, just enough that he can feel the coolness of the metal, but not enough to actually break the skin. Merlin freezes, and Harry says, in a steadier voice than he expected, “Safewords?”

Automatically, Merlin responds, “Yellow if I want to take a minute, red if I want to stop altogether.”

“Check in?”

“Green.”

It’s odd, being on this end of it. Merlin is almost always the one in charge, watching out for Harry in every aspect of life, in bed as much as in the field. It’s a heady feeling whenever he gets to do this, though, gets to take Merlin’s safety in his hands because Merlin trusts him with it.

They probably should discuss this more, given the danger they’re toying with, but they’ve been together long enough that there’s room for experimentation like this. So long as Harry doesn’t do anything too drastic and Merlin remembers the safewords, everything will be fine.

With that in mind, he tilts the blade slightly, no longer flat against Merlin’s neck but with the edge actually digging in. If Merlin so much as lifts his chin or swallows too hard, the knife will cut him, and Harry can tell Merlin knows it, given the way every muscle in Merlin’s body stiffens. “Hold still,” Harry whispers, and Merlin doesn’t nod, can’t move even if he wanted to, but the look in his eyes is one of complete trust.

Harry scoots back a little farther and slides his free hand down Merlin’s chest, not bothering to tease him by toying with the waistband of his bottoms before slipping his hand in. Harry moans, leaning down and licking a stripe up Merlin’s neck, delighting in the way his partner’s breath catches. “No pants?” he whispers in Merlin’s ear, dragging the lobe between his teeth and scraping along it before releasing. Merlin’s abdominal muscles flex, but he keeps himself still. “It’s almost like you were expecting this to happen.”

He lifts the knife away a few centimetres, and Merlin sucks in a gasp of air. “Knew you’d be home soon,” he manages. “Hoped…”

“Hmm?” Harry traces the tip of the knife down the same path his tongue took, starting behind the ear and sliding back down to the dip between Merlin’s collarbones, enough for Merlin to feel the point scratch at him. “You hoped what?” With his other hand, he grips Merlin’s cock, giving it a loose stroke, and Merlin’s hips twitch minutely into his hand.

“Hoped you’d find me here,” Merlin says, and oh, he sounds beautiful like this, his breath ragged, his accent thicker than usual. “Check…pocket.”

It’s not often Merlin nears speechlessness in bed – by choice is one thing, but to have it happen like this is another thing entirely – and Harry enjoys it immensely. He removes his hand from Merlin’s bottoms and slips it into his pocket instead, withdrawing a few warm packets, the contents squishing softly as Harry brings them up to examine them. He laughs, and the knife digs into Merlin’s skin just a little.

“And you call me a slut,” he teases. He drops the packets next to Merlin and flattens the blade again, running it down the centre of Merlin’s chest, following the black lines on his tattoo, doubling back up and ending over his heart. “Did you want to get fucked, darling? Or did you forget about _this_ ,” he presses down just a little, almost able to feel Merlin’s heartbeat racing through the metal, “and expect to pin me to the mat and fuck me?”

“ _Anything,_ ” it’s more exhale than word, a plea. “Anything, Harry, anything you want.”

“Anything?” Harry repeats. He sits back, lifting the knife away – Merlin chokes back a low whine of disappointment, and the hand on Harry falls to the mat and curls into a loose fist – and taps it against his chin as if he’s thinking about it. He’s not. He already knows what he wants. He presses the knife, blade down, against the centre of Merlin’s chest again and says, intentionally keeping his voice casual, “I think what I want is for you to lie there and hold yourself very, very still for me while I ride your cock like it’s my own personal sex toy.” This, at least, is familiar territory for them both, a kink of Harry’s that they both enjoy, and Merlin gives the tiniest of nods. Harry smiles at him and leans closer, brushing his lips against Merlin in a ghost of a kiss as he whispers, “If you can do that for me, then afterwards I’ll let you come.”

A shudder runs through Merlin’s body, and he gives another tiny nod of understanding and agreement. Harry pats his cheek, and then sets the knife down on Merlin’s chest while he shimmies out of his workout clothes and pushes Merlin’s bottoms down. Merlin’s cock springs free, red and leaking against his stomach, and Harry strokes two fingers along it. Merlin’s so hard that Harry can actually feel him throbbing under his touch, and he checks Merlin’s face as he curls his fingers around the knife again, dragging it down.

Harry sees Merlin’s fist tighten even before Merlin murmurs, “Yellow.” Harry pauses, and Merlin says, “Anywhere but there, love.”

“Right,” Harry says, and sets the knife higher on Merlin’s chest again. “No sharp objects near genitalia. A good rule to live by.” His playful tone makes Merlin smile and relax again, and he reaches up to stroke his cheek, “Alright, darling?” He doesn’t use the phrase, but he uses the same voice he does when he says ‘check in,’ and Merlin understands.

“Green,” he tells Harry.

Harry presses a brief kiss to his lips, and then picks up the packet of lube. He tears it open and slicks his fingers, then grips the knife in his other hand again, still holding it to Merlin’s chest so he can keep himself balanced. Merlin watches hungrily as Harry reaches behind himself and pushes a finger into his hole.

He tilts his head back and moans, partially for effect and partially because he’s been away from his lover for several weeks so doing this again really does feel that good. He slides in a second one, rocking his hips back into it, scissoring his fingers apart. In the back of his throat, Merlin makes a little rumble of displeasure at not being able to see, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even lift his head to try and get a better view, and Harry hurries up and adds a third finger because he isn’t particularly interested in waiting around either.

He withdraws his fingers and slides forward, gripping Merlin’s cock and giving it a few strokes to slick it with lube and Merlin’s precum. Merlin grits his teeth and closes his eyes against the onslaught of sensation after being ignored, and Harry grins and lines the head up with his hole, bearing down until it slides in, and Merlin lets out a moan, unable to help the way his back arches.

Harry adjusts his grip on the knife so he can pick it up again, and leans forward, stopping just before the head of Merlin’s cock slips all the way out of him. He presses the blade right up under Merlin’s chin, so he has to tilt his head back to avoid it, and says mildly, “I thought I told you not to move.”

Merlin doesn’t respond, and Harry angles the blade ever so slightly, so the tip digs in against the underside of his jaw. “Are you going to be good for me?” Harry asks. “Because if you can’t hold still for me, I’m not going to let you come, darling, and that would be such a shame.” He lifts the blade away again, “Well?”

“I’ll be good,” Merlin says.

“Good,” Harry purrs. He settles the blade flat against the side of Merlin’s neck, the end just behind his ear, and returns his attention to Merlin’s cock, rocking back against it and taking it inside him a centimetre at a time, relishing the way Merlin’s muscles flex under his skin with the effort of holding still, making the Celtic knotwork dance. He keeps going until he’s flush against Merlin’s hips, moaning in satisfaction at being completely split open on his cock.

“I missed this,” he tells Merlin, holding himself there to savour the sensation. “You feel so good inside me, like you were moulded to fit me perfectly.” He slides off a bit, and then back down, and Merlin’s jaw clenches. Harry does it again, exhaling into a sigh of pleasure. “That’s it, darling,” he murmurs. “So good for me.”

He starts to pick up the pace, because as much as he likes teasing Merlin, it’s been far too long and he doesn’t want to tease himself any longer. He plants one hand on the mat over Merlin’s shoulder, working himself on his partner’s cock until he’s bouncing on it, angling it so it nails his prostate on every stroke.

Merlin’s eyes are shut, and Harry drags the knife along his jaw and presses the tip into the base of his throat, just hard enough that a single bead of blood wells up and Merlin gasps. Harry pulls the knife away and laves his tongue over the spot, then moves up to nip at the edge of Merlin’s jaw, then his ear. The knife goes back to his chest, pressing against his heart, and Harry’s hips stutter as he gets close. He lets out a low whine, forcing himself back harder on Merlin’s cock, moaning at the feeling of being spread wide and chasing his orgasm.

A particularly sharp glance against his prostate sets him off, and he comes untouched, all over Merlin’s chest, painting him in white stripes. Harry settles slowly, not pulling off, and he can feel the trembling in Merlin’s muscles even in this position. He lifts his hand from the mat, sitting back slightly and stroking Merlin’s cheek. “Open your eyes, darling.”

Merlin’s eyelids flutter half-open, hazy dark eyes looking up at him through his eyelashes, and Harry smiles. “You were so good,” he coos. “You were absolutely perfect for me.” Merlin is still throbbing inside him, and Harry clenches down around him, ignoring his own sensitivity. Merlin whimpers, and his eyes slam shut again.

“Shh,” Harry soothes. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Merlin this far gone, and he coaxes him back, “You did so well, darling. You can come now. Do you want that?”

Merlin tenses, and as he comes back to himself he gives a little nod. “Alright,” Harry says. “What do I need to do?”

Another pause, and then Merlin flips them over. Harry lets him, his focus going to the knife, which slips and ends up pressed against Merlin’s neck again. Merlin gives a hesitant thrust, and Harry wraps his legs around Merlin’s waist and murmurs encouragingly, “That’s it, darling.”

The pace of Merlin’s thrusts pick up, each one edging the knife against his throat, and Harry quickly adjusts to compensating for that, rocking back slightly every time Merlin drives into him. It takes a few more strokes for Merlin to come, grunting softly as he keeps thrusting through it, slowing as his orgasm ends and hovering over Harry, braced on his elbows.

Harry takes the knife away, tossing it carefully to the side with the other one, long abandoned. Merlin pulls out carefully and rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling and blinking slowly as he comes down from the high. Harry rolls onto his side and smiles down at him.

“You alright?” he asks.

It takes Merlin a moment to respond, “That was…”

“Good?” Harry offers.

“Fucking spectacular,” Merlin laughs, and Harry grins and tucks himself up against Merlin’s side.

He can feel his partner’s come leaking out of him, and he pulls a face, “The cleaning crew is going to bitch us out again for making a mess.”

“Not if they don’t know it was us,” Merlin murmurs.

Harry elbows him, “They’re going to know it was us.”

“Not if I erase the footage and splice in the video of the last time James and Alistair shagged in here.”

“Ugh,” Harry sits up and wrinkles his nose, looking at the mat. “I really didn’t need to think about that.”

Merlin chuckles and sits up too. He fixes his jogging bottoms and passes Harry his workout clothes. “Come on. I think I hear a shower calling our names.”

“Can you even stand?” Harry teases.

Merlin pointedly gets to his feet and offers Harry a hand, pulling him up and into Merlin’s arms. He kisses Harry softly, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Harry tells him. “That was as much for me as it was for you.”

“Still,” Merlin gives him another brief peck on the lips. “It was a lot to ask.”

“You can ask me for anything,” Harry tells him honestly. “I can’t always promise I’ll be able to do it, but you can always ask.”

“I know,” Merlin smiles fondly. He scoops up the knives, replacing them on the wall, and then shoulders his workout bag. “Shower, and then home.”

“Chinese food for dinner?” Harry asks, following him towards the locker rooms.

“Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Merlin counters.

“Deal.”


End file.
